Family
by Arithanas
Summary: SUMMARY: 1640, Blois. The young viscount de Bragelonne reflects on his situation and on the people around him. Raoul's POV. DISCLAIMER: Dumas & Maquet works are public domain.


**Title: ** Family  
><strong>Rating:<strong> General (yes, another one...)  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Dumas' characters belong to everyone now, and I love to play with them.  
><strong>Synopsis:<strong> 1640, Blois. The young viscount de Bragelonne reflects on his situation and on the people around him. Raoul's POV.

Bragelonne was my home, it will always be, because M. le comte said it so, and I did not need any other assurance. I was _his_ _boy_, his favorite one. Blaisois and Olivain was his godchildren too, but I was the one he loved best. I had a good room and fine clothes and I ate my share next to him at the table. I was his son, the one that he bestowed with his father's name and his title.

He explained all to me one morning before the breakfast, he had been chopping firewood and I asked him if there was one _Madame la comtesse_, because I overheard one maid who said that I looked like M. le comte and perhaps he had a wife. For some moments, I really believed that I was his son, but Charlot's wife said that I was a foundling, an orphan. When M. le comte listened my reasons to put him that question, he told me that since his mother passed away, there had not been a countess, he took a piece of wood and then took me by the hand.

"Come, Raoul," he said and drove me to the sycamores. He sat in one bench and sat me in his lap. "I had to tell you a story. It is an important one, so pay attention. It describes how God sent you to me." He smiled at me, but his eyes were restless, like he was not sure of what to say. "There is a village, not too far from here, and there is a church in that village"

"As in all villages..."

"But this is a special one, and this church has a priest..."

"As in all churches..."

"Yes, I guess so." he said and laughed. "But this priest was my friend, and not all priests are my friends." Then he continued, "Some years ago, I was sad and lonely, Raoul. My friends were no longer with me. My elders did not want to marry me, so I did not have a wife and all I had was a big, ugly and crumbling house, and a very loyal servant."

"Grimaud", I said, because even then I knew that those two were inseparables.

"The good Grimaud" he admitted, fiddling about with that piece of walnut tree. "So I went to visit my friend, the priest, to tell him I was... not fine and I found him very concerned, a few days earlier some one had left a beautiful, chubby baby and he did not who were his parents; the village where he lives is very small and very poor and he was positive that no woman had a new baby. This was a pretty baby and so small. When I saw him he smiled at me and do you know what I though at that moment, Raoul?

"No..." I really had no idea, and to be honest, I could never divine what was happening in his brain, any time given.

"I thought the parents of this precious baby should be very unfortunate to lose him." And when he said that he locked his arms around me and put his cheek in my head. "I observe that the baby was as lonely as I was. I could take him home with me. As if he were mine. This thought was so pleasant that I was not sad anymore, because it seemed to me that God want me to have this baby. Do you understand me?"

"Was I that baby?"

"Yes, you were, and you was smiling at me for the first time in my life" he said and took a small knife from his boot. "The priest, my friend, christened you with my father's name and he made me your godfather, then I brought you home with me..." then he started to whittle the wood away. He smirked. "Grimaud was so spirited when he met you... you were a big surprise for him."

I laughed at that image. Grimaud was as expresionless as he was taciturn and I could not figure out his expression. I hugged him, he was so good to me. He corresponded and keep whittling.

"_Pa_..." I called him out.

"Yes, Raoul?"

"What is a godfather?"

"The priests say that a godfather is a person who, in baptism, agrees to help a person to become a good Christian, but..."His hands stopped, his voice dropped then he put down the knife and the wood. "Do you want me to tell you a secret?"

I nodded. He made me see him in the eyes, they were blue and dark, like the night I saw every night from my bed; his face was strained, and I knew that my curiosity was hurting him. M. le comte was so sad but he smiled at me before he said:

"I believe that a godfather is a father that God chose for you."

I closed my arms around his neck, and held him tight.

He is my God-chosen father, for he had brought me up with a generous hand and he was there to answer my doubts, even when those were hard for him. I wanted no other father, even when I had to call him M. le comte when other people were around.

People did not understand that I was his son, they came to me with silly questions at the most unexpected times. M. le comte insisted that I should only answer those noisy question with a _Yes, Madame_ or a _No, Monsieur_; because it was my history and my life and it is my right to share them with the people I want to, no to the first person who asked about them; but it was hard no to speak my mind to those ansine adults.

Some of those questions annoyed me more than others: _Do you long for your mother, little one?_, its a specially annoying one. I did not know how I am expected to miss someone I never meet. I never need no mother, I had Charlot's wife: she caressed me, and she sang to me, and she do a multitude of small things that made my life better such as kiss my bruises and dry my tears with her apron when I hurt myself.

Another query, dumber if that was possible, was _Don't you get bored at M. le comte's house, dear boy?_, and for good messure they usually added: _He is such a severe man!_ I did not live alone with him, you know! Bragelonne was full of people, there were the servants and their wives and their children; there were Charles and his wife; there was Grimaud, who loved me and cared for me as much as M. le comte; there were Olivain and Blaisois, and the later is my best friend, we played a lot together. But mostly, I was next to M. le comte, he was strict because he used to be a soldier, but he was not a dull man: he taught me how to read when I was four, and he let me read his books; he also taught me how to ride a horse, but he did not let me ride alone yet; and last week he put a foil in my hands and he told me that he will teach me how to employ a sword, now that I am a big boy. There was much to do at home to get bored.

But the prize for those weird questions is for _M. le comte is not too affectionate to you, is he not, my angel?_ I could not find something wrong if he show me his affection. He was my _parrain_, and all the godfathers love their godchildren, is not it? Sometimes he hugged me and stroked my hair and, more sparingly than I wanted, he kissed my brow, mainly when he tucked me in my bed. There was nothing wrong if he loves me.

I could not comprehend why did they ask those questions, and more importantly: Why did they call me all those names? All those _angels_ and _littles_, and _dears_ made me want to scream and rise a kerfuffle!

This afternoon, I was playing with the other children of the palace of Blois, and Grimaud beckoned me. I consulted the shadows and I knew it was almost time to go home. I looked at him unhappy before following him to the _château_, the faithful servant never let me pay my respects covered with dust and a dirty face. He took me behind a pillar and I gathered my patience whereas Grimaud cleaned my face and brushed my hair and clothes. When we arrived home, I could take off this doublet and play on the floor of the room and could not do in Blois. The count consented it, if I behave when we went to visit.

While Grimaud was taking care of my personal appearance, we heard the voice of a woman and recognized the steps of the count. The servant made me a sign to keep quiet because we could look like if we were prying. Meddling was banned in Bragelonne, because it enrages the master of the house.

But we are not in Bragelonne.

"...I had been told that, for a man, sons are important ," said that noble woman that I could not recognize "I know that have a _protegé_, a beautiful and well-behaved boy, dear Count, but, do not you rather prefer a wife and some sons born from your own blood?"

I never contemplated what my godfather did while I was playing outside, now I found out that he had to spend his time with adults and he had to counter stupid questions too.

I did not know what to think, because my _parrain_ had not give cause for that inquest. I was feeling meddlesome and that alone scared me; not to mention that I was, in fact, eavesdropping him, but I had been toying with that precise question since that little conversation under the sycamores. Grimaud had noticed my ordeal, because he hugged me, while trying to simulate that he was re-settling my collar. There was a long silence, I was sure M. le comte has been considering the answer he would give to that rude examination.

"With all due respect, if any person other than Madame had made me that question," she must be a very high woman for him to reply her in that fashion, "I would have sent the indiscreet to mind his own business, but since it is you who asks, I will answer."

Grimaud gasped and I clutched to his jerking, both of us were scared stiff because neither of us knew what he was about to say. Even to us, he was a complete mystery.

"I prefer Bragelonne over any possibility of having my own wife and children." He stated, his tone was flat and his pitch has as formal as ever. "First, because God entrusted me with this youngster that wanted me; and, second, because contrary this hypothetical wife and these even more hypothetical children, Bragelonne is here, and he looks at me with loving eyes every morning; because when he is sad is it me to whom he turns to; because when something exciting happens in his life, is it me to whom he wants to tell about it first; because every night, he does not sleep until I give him my blessing." Despite the wild joy that overwhelmed me, his sharing of that domestic trifles made my eyebrows rise. "That boy is the joy of my life, and please forgive me, but I prefer that concrete reality to some sweet chimeras that could never be. And I must add, moreover, that the idea is un-Christian, Madame..."

"How is it possible, M. le comte...?"

"It is lack of delicacy to assume that Bragelonne is less my son than a child born of the inalienable rights of wedlock, Madame, it is almost like saying that Joseph was not Jesus' father." he explained bluntly but his voice had a touch of humor at the scandalized gasp of his interlocutor. "He is my son, because there was a sacrament involved. Bragelonne is my son, Madame, one that I claimed wet, not from my wife's blood, but from baptismal water and, by this circumstance, he is twice more cherished to me. But I know that the idea did not pass through your heart and soul, I speak only for those other people I've sent to mind their own business."

There was a rumor of clothes and voices, they should be exchanging pleasantries as the well-educated people do when they had an argument instead of exchanging apologies. M. le comte said it is called "saving face" and that was important, but did not recall why it is. I heard him said that we will pay his respects to Monsieur and Grimaud and I listened the footsteps of his long strides down the hall.

My head was a turmoil, because I had disobeyed him and listened one of those 'adult talks' like the ones he used to had with Grimaud and Charlot but also I was undergoing a delight almost supernatural for he loved me _as his child_. Oh I was thankful enough for being cared by pure Christian charity, but he took a stand and barricaded me as his rightful son. I wanted to cry my joy right where I was or to do some somersaults just to express how happy I am, but that behavior is not worthy of someone educated by M. le comte. I just clung hard to Grimaud, because hugging him is almost as doing it with his master.

"M. le comte loves me!" I whispered in Grimaud's ear, in ecstasy.

"A lot," he replied in almost an inaudible voice, and I knew I was not dreaming.

This old man hugged me back, and I could feel his anxiety leave him. Grimaud also loved me, in his quiet and utilitarian manner and he was almost as worried as I was about the reply M. le comte could give. I loved Grimaud too.

When the count left the _château_, I had to restrain myself and not to spring to his neck and squeezing him in my arms of pure gratitude, but I could not help being so excited that I was restless in my place and noticing this peculiar performance brought out a smile on his lips.

"I reckon we are eager to go home ..." he said looking into my eyes with an amused tone in his voice.

"Today more than ever, M. le Comte, " I replied, trying to harness my conduct.

He smiled and extended his hand to me. "Well, let's go, M. le Vicomte."

I took his hand and led me to the horses while I was walking beside Grimaud.

Yes, I know we are a weird picture to see: a noble bachelor and his valet raising an orphan child; but those two men are my family because 'family' is how we call those who love and protect us and, if people do not understand it, too bad for them.


End file.
